Freaks
by Brobdingnagian Pseudonym
Summary: Too normal to be a mutant yet too eccentric to pass as human, Sherlock made a game of hiding in plain sight. By ducking behind mirrors and making the truth so obvious it seemed absurd, he kept everyone oblivious and lived honestly among non-mutants. Then the war came.
1. It Begins

"I'm not a freak." The small boy stated firmly, staring levelly through the messy curls falling across his eyes.

"I don't think you're a freak." The man at the other side of the desk replied gently, a benevolent smile was implied in his eyes but never crossed his lips. The boy flexed his jaw and blinked. His eyes shifting subtly from blue-green to green-blue.

"This is a school for freaks. And obviously you're the headmaster. Why else would I be sent out here?"

"The term 'freak' implies there's something wrong with us. Mutations, although they sometimes need controlling or polishing, aren't disorders. This is a school for mutants." The man explained patiently, unfazed by the boy's bluntness.

"Very eloquently put, but still irrelevant as I am not a mutant." The boy stated, very maturely for a 13 year old. "Now kindly get out of my head." He said steadily, without so much as a twitch.

The headmaster complied with a quiet sigh, leaning back in his chair. "You may not have as drastic a mutation as some of our other students. But there is something there. Non-mutants have never been aware of my presence in their mind unless I bid it. Even other telepaths have difficulty realizing it." The boy's eyes wander lazily across the room. He's heard this before. Granted, never in those words in this specific situation. But it's always the same thing 'Sherlock is special. The holmes boys are... a bit odd. Sherlock is gifted. Mr. Holmes is very talented but if only he would learn how to apply those talents. Sherly's a freak.' "But still, as your skill isn't one that needs controlling, you have a choice. You can go back home to england and pretend you're just a boy. Or you can stay and learn how much more you can be."

"What ever this 'mutation' is, it's passed genetically. My grandmother and older brother have been coping just fine. With their experience they could provide more relevant guidance than this facility."

The man nods patiently as the boy makes his decision. "It's all up to you."

"No doubt it would be rather uncomfortable to be so far away from anything familiar to me." He pondered quietly to himself. "And Mycroft would worry himself sick. Alright I've decided."

"I'll arrange for you to be flo-"

"I'm staying." Charles raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised with the boy.

"You've just said-"

"You're not a very good mind-reader are you?" He smirked, mockingly. The headmaster just raised an eyebrow knowingly. They both knew the boy had made up his mind before the plane touched the ground. He was simply testing the Headmaster's reactions and responses. Judging his character and moral fiber. And Charles Xavier, knowing this, did what anyone would do to reassure a curious animal. Look away. Pretend you don't know they're there. "I despise my brother Mycroft, his method of 'guidance' is insufferably haughty and comfortable is boring." He purposefully screeched his chair against the floor as he stood.

"I'll find my own dorm. Good day, professor." And he flew out of the room, only thinly veiling his excitement at having free reign in a completely new environment.

"Sherlock Holmes..." Charles mumbled over the acceptance papers. "He'll be one to watch."


	2. A Crack in the Wall

Before I say anything, I'd like to make a shout out to my one, only and favourite reviewer.

**GUEST**

Wow, thanks! I always try to write new but plausible crossovers. For the other student's reactions, you'll just have to wait and see. John'll be all over the place. But that'll be explained in just a second.

Ok! I've decided how this fic is going to go! It'll take place primarily in the present (Meaning a little after Baskerville in Sherlock and during the... 3rd Xmen movie? Maybe?) With frequent flashbacks to when Sherlock was in school.

* * *

Sherlock prided himself on the carefully constructed wall of mystery he built between himself and the rest of the world. Every therapist that's ever so much as glanced at him swore on every grave in the yard that it was a defense mechanism. But all therapists are idiots. To a man such as Sherlock, who saw everyone as transparent and naked, the wall acted as mere clothing. When you see everything about everyone, you tend to value privacy more than most.

What always amused Sherlock was that people always assumed the wall was merely a fog. They thought they knew what he was hiding and they were the only ones who could see it. Donovan assumed he was secretly a serial killer. Lestrade thought he was just an arrogant kid desperate for recognition. John -dear, sweet, deceptively ordinary John- assumed many things. John, depending on Sherlock's behaviour, would treat him as

1) A brilliant bastard (this was his default position)

2) A good man with a Past

3) A man-child with a slight mental disability

4) A machine (although he only admitted it once)

5)(and this was definitely his favourite) A god

But despite the ever-growing hype about mutants in the media and everyone's constant and unyielding suspicion that Sherlock was never quite human, even John failed to put 2 and 2 together. Sherlock found endless amusement in this as he never once made an attempt to seem less like a mutant (... unless he was acting as someone else to get information or favours, but that doesn't count). All he did was never say it straight out. Oh how he loved living with idiots.

But as time went on, he got more and more tempted to do the adding for them. Or just John, actually. He caught himself wondering what would happen if John knew the truth. How would he react? Would it make Sherlock more of a god in his eyes? Or more of a machine? Knowing John's stong moral fiber, would he react at all? Sherlock being Sherlock, he knew John didn't mind the existence of mutants. In the war, he'd seen normal humans do worse things in the war than the mutant 'terrorists' on the news. But things are always different when you're living with one.

Sherlock would always curse himself every single day for so greatly underestimating someone.

He finally announced it shortly after their first kiss. It was in an alleyway, standing over the freshly dead body of a not very nice man. Both crime-fighters were soaked to the skin in blood (he hadn't died easily) and panting with adrenaline and relief and residual fear from the near death experience.

"John." The detective sighed as he let his companion pull him into another desperate kiss by his scarf. He was always more willing to admit his true feelings after a close call, but such a drastic step was shocking to the both of them. Then again, John Watson never really spoke in words. "John, I have to tell you something."

"If you're not pregnant or dying, it can wait." He gasped, grabbing at the back of Sherlock's long neck. Sherlock let him. The adrenaline running through his system and his newfound addiction to John's warmth seriously imparing his restraint. He savoured the taste of iron on John's lips more than he probably should. But he couldn't bring himself to care because he knew John found him most attractive whilst soaked in blood. When it came down to it, they were both sick bastards.

"I'm a mutant." Sherlock whispered when he finally had to come up for air. After four seconds of ambiguous silence, Sherlock whirled away. Suddenly cold and ashamed despite the still warm arterial spray soaking his clothing and the decades he spend shrugging off cries of 'freak'. _He's just surprised. Don't be stupid Sherlock, you know how slow he can be_. "We should really get out before lestrade comes. It's obvious that this was a case of self defense, but I wouldn't want to put any more ideas into Donovan's head."

"Right... yeah. Of course." John fumbled back to reality. "I don't suppose we can grab a cab."

"No. We'll have to take the tube." He said briefly, walking in long strides down the street. John had to jog to keep up.

"So what's your... thing?" John asked for about a century of fidgeting.

"Thing."

"You know. All mutants have a thing. And a name? Or is that just media hype."

"The others like to pick names at school. Silly, obvious names. I never did. My _thing_ on the other hand... you know what it is."

"...Your... deductions? That's it?" John sputtered, trying to correct the miswording. "I mean I was afraid you've been hiding something. But that's really all? You don't... turn into a blue porcupine?"

Sherlock scoffed. "No. The only thing I've ever faked is the proof. No one would except it otherwise. I didn't read your past off your phone, I just knew. I used the phone to make it less supernatural." He explained, soothed by the normality of it. Holmes and Watson. Wandering the london streets absolutely soaked in blood and laughing. Some things will never die.

"Wow, really? But... Harry. How'd you get her wrong if..."

"When I saw your phone, I realized no one would guess 'sister' from the name Harry. I couldn't explain how I knew so I pretended I didn't. It's actually quite simple."

"Wow. That's..." John giggled and glanced up. "That's amazing." They both snigger at the reminder of that first day. "So... all of that darting around and sniffing you do at the crime scenes. That's all for show?"

"More or less, yes." They stopped for traffic and found they were both staring at eachother. "I also get brief glimpses of the future sometimes."

"Get down here, my wonderful bastard."

* * *

Ok, so I'm trying this new 'naming the chapters' things. I hope it doesn't majorly effect your perception of the story in a negative way.

Next up! 'What's in a Name' set in Sherly's school days!


	3. What's in a Name?

I introduce an OC into the story here. I don't really have much practice in creating characters, but I kinda had to because I don't think Sherlock's time at school would coincide with any of the current Xmen. And Sherlock needs someone to interact with.

Sherlock's first few weeks at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters started the way anyone would've expected. He was quiet and awkward around the other children just as any child would be at a new school. He avoided speaking with the other children on principle and made a point of being 'busy' anytime anyone tried talking to him. It was expected that he would need time to warm up to the other students. They always do. Especially when the other students are mutants.

But after the sixth or seventh week, it became clear that it wasn't a simple case of new kid shyness or culture shock. He exuded an air of subtle rejection and maintained a clear radius two feet at all times. The other students began to wonder if his superpower was repelling people. Because was good at it.

Sherlock crouched over a series of yellowed old maps which he had set up to cover the entire table. He hated having to watch idiot teenagers eat across the table from him as he worked. Idiot teenagers always bring friends and friends always... talk. Often while eating. It wasn't pretty.

"Hey!" A girl called out to Sherlock. Her rosy cheeks, perma-smile and comfortable amount of excess body weight made her look like an expensive baby doll had come to life and grown up. She pulled a chair up to Sherlock's table and set her lunch onto colonial america. "Heard you're new here." She said brightly.

"You have ears." Sherlock replied, never looking up from crumbling drawings of navajo pictographs.

She laughed past his bitterness. "My name's gingersnap."

'_Of all the ridiculous names, you had to choose one that implies you're a stripper.' _Sherlock sighed to himself. He didn't speak the insult, as he had no intention of pissing anyone off this early in the year.

"Sherlock." He said shortly. Just because he doesn't want to make enemies doesn't mean he wants to make friends.

"...What about your other name?" Gingersnap asked after a brief moment of hesitation when she had to determine whether or not 'Sherlock' _was_ his other name.

"Holmes."

"That's not what I mean. The kids a-" Gingersnap was about to explain the workings of the school when Sherlock looked up at her for the first time since she sat down. The hard green of his eyes shocked the breath out of her.

_Real name: Tiffany Browning. Orphaned at age 12. Plane accident. Younger brother (age 4) by the name of George Browning under the care of relatives. Mutation: exceptional at healing illnesses but not wounds, conditions or cancers. Lactose intolerant. _He saw the information as instantaneously as any normal person would identify the color blue. For the moment, he pushed the information aside.

"I know what you mean. You all choose new names because it makes you feel more special and less freakish and weird. It might also have become popular because parents often throw mutants out after the mutation is revealed and that betrayal paired with the confusion of dealing with the changes spurs adolescent mutants to completely reinvent themselves." Sherlock recited clinically, with all the enthusiasm of a dead man. Gingersnap nearly dropped the sandwich she had been eating. "These maps are over a century old at the least, _do not_ get your crumbs all over them."

They continued lunch in silence.

"Oracle?" Gingersnap chirped on the way to Physics.

"What?" Sherlock responded. The girl had gotten into the habit of hanging around him despite Sherlock's natural repellent quality. The phenomenon intrigued Sherlock, but it did nothing to change his initial indifference towards the girl's existence.

"Your name. I thought maybe I could help you brainstorm one."

"I have a name. Don't need another." He said as he pulled his wild curls out of his face. "Got a string?"

She pulled a hairtie from her wrist and handed it to him. "You never know when an alias could come in handy."

"Of course! And if I ever decide to buy a cape and use my powers of knowing things to fight crime anonymously, I'll be sure to call you." He said sarcastically as he tied his hair back, using a nearby picture frame as a mirror "Where did 'Oracle' come from anyway?"

"You... see the truth about people. That's what oracles do, right? They tell you what people are hiding and stuff."

"I see facts. Cold, hard facts. Not 'truth'. Truth is some romantic dream that poets chase after." He drawls, rolling his eyes at his reflection as he rearranged the purposefully stray curls framing his face. Gingersnap rolled her eyes back, smirking in exasperated amusement.

"'Truth is a lie' Sounds like the stuff of poetry to me." She joked. Sherlock didn't even acknowledge that she had spoken. "Fine. Silvertongue?"

"Dear god no."

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked gingersnap as she set her lunch onto the small patch of empty space at the table.

"I'm hungry?" Ginger answered with a confused smile.

"No. I mean why do insist on hanging around me?" Sherlock specified. "You obviously have other friends. They're bound to be more pleasant company."

"I wouldn't say that." Gingersnap sighed sympathetically.

"God, they must be horrid." There was silence. Sherlock cocked his head, his face otherwise unchanged. "Have I struck a nerve?"

"No, no. Not at all. I just think you're not as horrible as you think everyone else thinks you are." Her nose crinkled as she thought that over. "Does... that make sense?"

"You haven't stuck around long enough." Sherlock mumbled darkly as he examined a plate of dirt and ate off a similar plate of food simultaneously.

Gingersnap ignored the statement. "And anyways, it's not like you don't want me here. You even cleared a space at the table for me."

"That doesn't actually prove that I want you here. It only means I don't want you making a mess of my work."

"So do you?" She asked bluntly. Sherlock's chin jerked upwards. His glacier-steady eyes blinked in confusion at her and his eyebrows drew together.

"What?" He asked, a little shocked by the question. And more shocked that he could, in fact, be shocked by the unassuming girl before him. He'll find later in life that the unassuming ones are always the most shocking.

"Do you want me here? Because I don't have to be if you don't want me to be. It's fine if you don't, by the way. Some people don't like... people-and that's fine! I won't go out of my way just to get in your way. I can just go away if you... you. I-I'm just going to stop talking." Gingersnap became increasingly more flustered the longer Sherlock stared, eventually turning her full attention to her microwaved ramen.

"Dear god, you're not in love with me are you?" Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes. Gingersnap squawked. "No, I would've seen that. Stay if you like. But don't ever claim I didn't warn you."

She beamed and the rest of lunch was eaten in a peaceful silence.

"Thanatos."

"No."

Ok. Relative silence.


End file.
